Brand new days tumble away like losing dice

It's a little like a gamble,
going to bed early and
hoping for some kind of dream vision...
Some Carlos Castenada,
little smoke experience
hoping to wake up in a new day,
when the Girl from Ipanema
will finally turn your way
as she sways so gently
to the rolling sea.

Maybe today is the day?
The proverbial quarter
that drops into a slot machine
and moments later
has them spewing coins
like a bulimic model
puking up her bagel and locks
behind the open door of a silver Beamer
into a Los Angeles parking lot
at dawn...
Which begs the question,
"What the fuck am I supposed to do
with all these quarters?"

It's a bit like a gamble
hoping to peel away
a thin veil of sleep into a new day
that explodes like a
fire cracker in a suburban mailbox.
That explodes like all four tires
on a lifted pick up
as you pound your
buck knife hard into the
hard rubber surface.
Explodes like the soda can
those trust fund honkeys
in the back
threw at you
on that lonely afternoon,
while the heavy snow drifted down
and street sludge splashed
your cheap plaid thrift store coat.

It's a little like a gamble,
pumping dollars into
scratch tickets
and hoping,
morning after morning
that the day is new,
and yesterday's karma
has gone as stale
as a day old bagel
some bulimic model
left out
and couldn't finish.